Saturday: Best Friend's birthday, which was very much a mutually agreed upon repeat of my birthday, ie, bagels shaped just like a thingy, elves and green tea icecream.
Even though I'd set the tape and gone to bed early, getting up still hurts, especially as Evil TV1 had replaced The Thunderbirds with the Munsters. Bleuch! Had to rely on EC9 for my Thunderbirds fix with my first cup of coffee for the day.
Set off bright and early with the very brightly wrapped large box of a present, with the grooviest bright pink and yellow 60s paper and ribbons I could find. The wrapping job turned out so well I almost didn't want to give it away, it looked so fine. What can I say? Presents wrapped in 60s paper are the best. Of course Best Friend was much like the kid who plays with the box it came with, squealing over the $9.00 Professionals dvd and ignoring the very cheap and nasty dvd player bought to play it on ($110, Tandy, mainly because with nobody else speaking to me I can pool money on the few who are - grin). Still, I didn't mind. There was much squealing, much admiring of my wrapping job and lots of bemused looks from the general public as I lugged the brightly wrapped parcel to the Starbucks at the end of the line.
Where we had the bagel sticks, which are long rods of purple bagel, allegedly, shaped just like a thingy. Nope, we're still not past the tittering stage yet. Too much bad, bad (mostly Trek) slash in our tender teenage years. For the same reason to this day we can't look at a kiwi fruit without sniggering. We're sad and we don't care. At least growing old disgracefully is one resolution we have kept, and kept well.
Friend said she wanted to go see Frailty, having already done Leo. 'You want to see a movie about an axe murdering relgious nutter?' I ask, thinking it not exactly birthday film fare, and wondering if perhaps friend had read the right synopsis for the film. The cinema's web page had described it, in two words, as a murder mystery. I said I'd been studying Metro with my coffee that morning and there was a pic of Bill Paxton welding an axe, as proof of my assertion. I promised to show it to BF when she dropped me off, just to prove it wasn't just a ploy on my part to get to see pretty elf boys again, being the only other thing on, because like hell we were going to see that travesty, that abomination, that piece of trash that dares to call itself I Spy.
So elf boys and manly men it was. Much MST3K'd this time, though the two girls in front were giggling in all the same places, which was weird because I've never been to the flicks with slash minded folks who weren't part of my party. Some of our comments:
Much happiness. Then it's following BF down the long passageways and back alleys - I swear she's going to kidnap me into service with the Royal Navy - to the restaurants and bento boxes. I manage to drip soy sauce on my beloved buddha t-shirt. Told you I can't be taken anywhere. Too much giggling, not enough attention to the art of eating.
After that it was back home for some classic, the one true I Spy with the real Kelly and Scotty. Get Thee To A Nunnery. This time the boys are in a nasty game of brinkmanship with a rather fey British agent, played by Peter Lawford which explains why he looked and sounded more Oz than Brit. Much cattiness, wickedness as they play pranks on each other in pursuit of the macguffin, then the lads break into a convent, nick a few habits off a clothesline (told you! It's tradition!) and, in drag, oh dear, battle the bad guys over the old smuggle out the old masters under the amateur painting trick. A delight, just a delight to watch.
Showed BF the Here's Billy photo from Frailty so she finally believed me about the axe murdering bit, and then she ran off with my Farscape tapes, dearly given to me by a friend. Sharing the joy, I am.
Then it was Andromeda does a western episode, all SF shows must, apparently, and Trance gets docked. Then Stargate. On Friday it was the Daniel gets cuckolded episode with Secrets. Tonight it's Learning Curve. Not the best episode but at least Jack and Daniel disagree without getting violent or nasty. Not a lot of J/D action though, in either ep. Sigh. I really didn't like that episode when I first saw it, but I was more tolerant this time round. Still not a fave though, and who the hell is Jack to tell other people how to live, anyway. Oh right, he's an American. Silly me.
Sunday: Whee! Gung Hai Fat Choi! (or however you want to spell it) Chinese New Year. Well, technically, not, but it's the day of the big parade. Another early morning.
Foolish mortals, as it's an hourly service, we decide to opt for the bus which will get us in there with about 15 mins to spare but it should drop us off right close to the action and the trip in on Sunday is usually as smooth as silk. Wrong! Somehow, once we hit the inner city the 600 or so buses that serve these posh inner city bastards bastards bastards dwelling wankers haven't shown up so they all try to crowd on our bus and apparently none of them have ever caught a bus before or know they have to pay so it takes forever. So we're going to be fifteen minutes late, not early and the bus drops us off in Wynyard, not Town Hall so I have to sprint across town with all the grace of Gimli because I come from a thick set and stocky peoples (trust me, all the dieting and excercise in the world ain't going to slim this little peach) and I just make it to catch the last ten minutes or so of the parade. I follow it down to Chinatown but due to the enormous crowds, I only ever manage to catch up with the last ten minutes. Still, I saw lions, dragons and ladies with fans and parasols so I feel sufficiently Sinophillic (Dad was an enormous Sinophile).
After that it was finding mother again (took only a few minutes, but I'm used to being lost in a crowd, always find my way back home, like a dumb dog) and Paddys Markets for a few presents for friends, just little tokens, incense, a new incense holder (quote of the day - Mother: "How much for the cones?"), plastic snakes (for the garden) a new backpack (it's not the years, honey, it's the mileage) and $100 worth of skirts, which at least at Paddys means two bags full, not just one. The chap at my fave stand was glad to see me back again, and small wonder. I'm happy as the last batch I'd bought at India Fox for twice the price are all falling to bits, and faster than I can sew them back up, too. Hey, half a dozen skirts for $100 that will last me six months to six years depending on wear and tear is good value, imho. And they're back in fashion this year (cheap Indian skirts). Not that I care, but they are.
Then it was a couple of rolls at my fave Vietnamese restaurant, but Mum wasn't a fan, so it was back up to our fave Tapas restaurant where Mum finished off garlic chicken and garlic sardines while I munch on a tiny chicken wing, some olives and a bit of bread - against the diet I know but I needed something to cushion the enormous jug of sangria I'd ordered due to a small communication glitch. Managed most of the jug, too. Talk about instant mellow me.
Came home and had to trot down to the local shops to pick up what mother had forgotten. She forgets a lot, even when I ring her from work so I can pick it up on the way home, so I have to jog back down again, missing Roswell, Buffy, Stargate or whatever but at least it's exercise (and people do keel over walking back up the hill with groceries. Okay so they're mostly 80 but it is a killer hill) and it's teaching me to put up and shut up because if you're lugging groceries back up six blocks and you get a huge cramp there's nothing to do but grit your teeth and keep going. Of course sometimes I get sick of the whole plodding through life with gritted teeth thing but I'm alaways violently reminded this is my lot in life, the way some people exist only to skip through the daisies. Except those daisy skippers always do so at the expense of other people, but they never care. They really never do.
Never mind. Watched Michael Biehn die horribly in The Rock (but hey, wet suit) and then went to bed.